


Red-Light District

by The_Angry_Turtle



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clyde Logan is a Good Boyfriend, Clyde Logan is a Sweetheart, Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hope, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Learning to trust, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Soft Clyde Logan, Suicidal Thoughts, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, learning to love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Angry_Turtle/pseuds/The_Angry_Turtle
Summary: Numbness, it’s a form of ecstasy  only a masochist could enjoy. It’s only so long before things come crashing down but the cycle always seems to repeat no matter how many times she tells herself things will change. It’s hard to escape the gutter--the sickness feels like home and there is no hiding.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Red-Light District

**Author's Note:**

> A story I’ve had weighing heavy on my mind. This fic was a toss up in which AD character to include--Flip or Charlie, however with the dark and raw themes, I felt a softer boy would be needed. So I went with Clyde Logan instead. I feel like he will balance out the content within this story nicely. This story deals with things I myself have and have not faced--a bit self healing lies within this story. What I have and have not experienced will not fully be disclosed, at least until I am ready.
> 
> This story is just what the title says and implies. The beginning of each chapter will have warnings, so you and only you are responsible for reading this. This is not meant for children. This will be triggering to some. All in all, this is fully dead dove and it's all on the tin-can. 
> 
> If you ever feel you need to talk to someone about your troubles, please know I am here for you and my inbox is a safe place.
> 
> Sorry for the lack of Clyde in this chapter, but he will appear soon! I am just setting the scene and introducing our main character. 
> 
> Warnings for chapter: drug use, thoughts of self harm, depression, hyper-sexuaity mention
> 
> So without further adieu, let the story begin.

She danced like most women fucked; sensual looks and pouty lips. Fuck me eyes that just screamed ‘come here big boy, I’ll give it up if you wanna pay up.’ Oh yes, those hips knew how to move, wine coloured panties all but pained on—laced up in the back and low enough to tease the boys and girls within the room doused in low red lights. Breasts that swayed as she allowed herself to slip down the pole to land suggestively on her bruised knees. Her pale pink nipples barely covered with the X shaped pasties she placed there at her vanity. Grinding against nothing, her hands ran down her body, thumbs hooking into her panties to lower them further, just enough to entice and tantalize the minds of all those who watched and threw their large bills upon the stage. Allowing herself to lift up onto her haunches she eyes the crowd, looking for a high roller to take to her back room for the night. It didn’t take long for her eyes to land on some dirty old man with balding hair.

He was a perfect target—easy pray that would pay for all she would and wouldn’t give him. He was probably handsome at some point, but the life of a sleaze will change you and there was no escaping the ecstasy this life could bring. She licks her red painted lips as she crawls over to where he is seated, locking eyes with him. He smirks as he watches her lift back up to her knees, hands roaming down to the front of her panties to tease herself—fingers trailing up to her lips just as the sensual beat comes to a close. With a kiss blown to the man—the crowd she stands and bends to collect her money and head backstage to freshen up before going to hook her prey for the night.

He was probably married, probably had children that wondered where daddy dearest was. A marriage she was sure fell apart a long time ago and she was the perfect distraction she knew he needed. Help him through the midlife crisis he was having which brought him here. Give him the time of his life and he’d be back with his wallet and what could only be assumed as a mediocre cock—oh yes it would be easy. Let him have a taste; melt in his mouth like liquid sugar.

\--

The apartment is small, the dank scent of water damage evident within the air held within the confined space. She sits upon the bed, legs crossed and back slumped in defeat. She thought the man would be enough of a distraction, enough to numb the ache deep within, but alas, he wasn’t. Not fully anyway. Sure his cock was enough to satiate the heathen within, the beast that begged for the attention and pleasure a man, or woman, could bring. It didn’t last long, it never does. A few thrusts of her hips and he was a gonner, cumming prematurely and thinking he did a good job. He didn’t really, but she was good at faking it. Good at getting the inner slut to quiet down enough with the 5 minutes she had him in her private room.

But now here she sits, her cold room dark and her thoughts darker. They swim with insults.

_‘Worthless’_

_‘Whore’_

_‘You don’t deserve to live’_

_‘What would your parents think’_

_‘You’ll never amount to anything’_

_‘junkie’_

_‘Disappointment’_

_‘You’re nothing’_

_‘Bitch’_

_‘Fraud’_

Thoughts that shoot so fast, some disappear before they could become clear enough to comprehend. They were right though, she was nothing. Will always be nothing and worthless. And while that man couldn’t fully numb the pain, she knew what would. She didn’t fully want to, she was tired and wanted to sleep. Reality was, she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Without further thought she stood, peeling off the pasties she hid beneath her trench coat, ignoring the mild sting it caused her delicate skin, as she made her way to the bathroom.

Glancing in the mirror she paused, sizing herself up. Eyeliner smudged, lipstick faded, dark circles unhidden despite the concealer and hair now tangled. She grunted, turning the sink faucet to allow the water to heat up as she went about digging in the medicine cabinet to search for the white powder that would bring about the feeling of euphoria—the happy bubble as she called it. With a hum of delight she pulled the baggie that was hidden behind the Tylenol and antiseptic only to lay it upon the counter so she could wash her face of the grime before indulging herself.

On her way back to the bed, she stopped to grab a bill from her purse, but decided to grab them all since they needed to be sorted anyway. Not like she had anything better to do. Once at her bed, she leaned over to her night stand to feel for her little mirror and razor-blade. With her supplies sat before her, she started the ritual of setting up whilst humming in anticipation.

A small bit of white powder in a neat little pile.

Razor going to further fine the powder.

Making a neat line—so not being ocd about how straight it is.

Razor set aside.

Bill rolled tightly.

Deep exhale looking up at the ceiling.

Deep inhale through the bill, one nostril pressed shut.

The slight irritation.

The excessive sniffing.

The wave of energy and euphoria hits so suddenly, her hands shake—body full of energy she had to let out. With pupils dilated and heart racing she reaches for the pile of money to begin the tedious process of smoothing and sorting them. Obsessively so.

Legs bouncing and mind racing she smooths and sorts, smooths and sorts.

One time

Two times

Three times

After finally satisfied she rubbrbands the fat stack before placing them within the lockbox she keeps hidden under her bed.

With that done, there is nothing left to do.

So she paces, and paces and paces.

Back and forth and back and forth.

Dizzy, dizzy dizzy.

Thoughts racing again

_‘Have another hit’_

_‘Your razor has been lonely lately’_

_‘You know you wanna’_

_‘Worthless’_

_‘Whore’_

_‘Slut’_

_‘Fine, you don’t wanna have another hit, go find a dick’_

_‘It will make it all go away’_

_‘I promise’_

God her heart is going so fast.

She’s gotta get out. Gotta move around, and walk around. Find somewhere to find a man to bring home. Find someone to help the pain. Touch starved little coked-out-bitch. God she needs it. Needs it. Needs it. Needs it. Maybe the guy could fix her. Maybe make it all go away. Lord knows the booze and coke can’t. Not fully.

Throwing clothes about her closet for something decent, she grumbles and fidgets. After going through everything twice, she settles on lowcut denim shorts and a plain green tank that is torn in strips along the back—too high to care about what shoes she wears, she puts those wicked Loui Vuittons back on, straps secured around her ankles.

Grabbing her keys she slink out the door, not caring it’s nearing midnight. There’s bound to be a bar open late on a Saturday night.


End file.
